


small comforts

by forpeaches (bluecarrot)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Happy Ending, Idiots in Love, Marriage Proposal, POV Brienne of Tarth, Post-Canon, Short & Sweet, Silly, Winterfell, brienne worries a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:19:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27624617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluecarrot/pseuds/forpeaches
Summary: When you & your lover are on the same page, but not the same paragraph.(a nice fic.)
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 39
Kudos: 306





	small comforts

**Author's Note:**

> written 18 November 2020.

Winterfell.

They were laying in bed, sated after a bout that had them both sweating, swearing, bruised and pleased. Brienne had her face pillowed on her arm, she was nearly asleep when Jaime said

“When Cersei is dead—”

She woke at that, and opened her eyes, but did not move.

“When she’s safely dead,” he said again, slowly, “and the war is over, I’ll need to return to Casterly Rock.”

Oh. “Did Tyrion ...”

“No. But he will.” He made a face. “The new Queen — whomever she is — will want allies, and it’s an easy thing to do. Give me a castle that was mine to begin with, foster a sense of her generosity among the smallfolk, restore a sense of balance to the land and put a Lannister in his ancestoral home. A toothless lion,” he said, “with only one paw, and his only brother kept close to hand.”

“You love the Rock.”

“Love,” said Jaime. “Love has edges, doesn’t it? And I’ll have to marry.” He made a quick, curtailed motion with his right arm. “How my father would laugh. No, not laugh, he never laughed, but even his bones must be pleased that he’s getting his way at last, even if the rest has fallen apart. That’s what he wanted of me — always. Marry some nice girl, make a dozen brats with hair if any color but gold, and keep the family legacy intact. Instead I went to Cersei and the Kingsguard and then to the Stark prisons, of course, as you know quite well. I wish ...” He fell silent; he rubbed his mouth.

And Brienne lay frozen.

 _Marry_.

She hadn’t considered that.

All the things she had thought to worry about — that Jaime wouldn’t want her in the first place, that he’d laugh and leave in the morning and call her a freak, that he’d fall back in bed with his sister the moment he had a chance — and this is what came out of his mouth? The one thing she hadn’t considered: his marriage.

It was impossible to think of him married. Sharp edges indeed; it was astonishing how much it hurt. She tried to breathe around it, to breathe easy, to talk normally, and all she could manage was “You’ll be happy at Casterly. After a — a time.”

“I was never made for anything but fighting. Peace is ... unsettling.”

“I’m certain you will have cause to do that with your wife,” she said. There: that was the word out, safely in the open air. Wife. Jaime’s _wife_. Whomever that would be. Someone small and slim and beautiful, no doubt. A lord’s daughter or a Myrnish princess. Raised to primp and simper and to please.

“Small comforts.” He sounded amused. “At least you’ll go on sparring with me, even if we have no more formal battles to wage.”

“Jaime— No. I couldn’t.”

“What _no?_ What do you mean? Why should we stop?”

“People will talk.”

“People always talk. What ...”

“Must you make me say it? Fine. _Your wife_ will dislike it. And I have a duty as well, ser. I will not linger just to be your ... your whore. It’s one thing here at Winterfell, this is a space apart, but when the war ends — _Jaime Lannister, what are you laughing at?”_

Because he had his hand covering over his face, he was choking on amusement and crawling over her, kissing her mouth and neck and eyes while she protested, embarrassed and confused, not understanding any of this — until she did.

**Author's Note:**

> a very silly foofy idea


End file.
